


Girl Afraid

by dragonQuill907



Series: Smithslock Oneshots [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M, Fem!Sherlock, Female Sherlock Holmes, Teenlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-01
Updated: 2016-06-01
Packaged: 2018-07-11 11:53:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7049554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonQuill907/pseuds/dragonQuill907
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Sherlock meet at a party neither of them really wanted to attend. The worst part? Their significant others are too busy groping each other in the kitchen to notice them.</p><p>Based on the song "Girl Afraid" by The Smiths<br/>(fem!Sherlock)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Girl Afraid

**Author's Note:**

> Since I'm obsessed with both The Smiths and Sherlock, I'm combining the two to make... whatever this is. Each fic is a oneshot that is based on a song by The Smiths.
> 
> Requests for AUs (femlock, teenlock, soulmates, whatever) are welcome because these are going to be kind of random.
> 
> Also, feedback fuels me
> 
> Thanks to @EmmaLockWrites for being my awesome editor! My work wouldn't be half as good without her.

This fanfiction is based on "Girl Afraid" by The Smiths. The lyrics are [here](http://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/smiths/girlafraid.html) and the song itself is [here.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=700I5J_305I)

* * *

 

Hanging around scantily-clad teenagers drinking beer and dancing to inane pop music wasn’t very high on seventeen-year-old Sherlock Holmes’s to-do list, and she felt so out of place that it was almost comical. In her purple button-down and black skinny jeans, Sherlock couldn’t have felt more different from the other preppy, giggling girls even if she wore a habit and recited Bible verses the whole night. It didn’t help that she was currently alone, searching for the only other person at this Godforsaken party she knew.

She was going to kill Victor when she found him.

Sherlock pushed her hair out of her face, frowning as it stuck to her lip gloss. She leaned against the doorframe of the kitchen and watched emotionlessly as her boyfriend - well, ex-boyfriend, she supposed - stuck his tongue down another girl’s throat, one of his hands tugging at dyed-blonde hair and the other grabbing a jean-clad arse.

Sherlock squeaked indignantly as something red and yellow pushed past her. The girl huffed as she righted her shirt and glared at the back of the inconsiderate boy’s head.

“ _ Excuse _ me,” she muttered, although she knew the boy would pay her no attention.

Sherlock watched with interest as the blond boy tore Victor away from the girl, his movements angry but controlled. She nearly laughed at the comical display in front of her: the short blond boy looked ready to face off against Victor, who was at least five inches taller but about twenty pounds lighter.

“What the hell?” Victor shouted, his face turning red.

“John!” the blonde exclaimed, panicked. “It’s not what it looks like!”

_ John? Oh, how boring. _

“I dunno, Mary,” snapped the boy. “It sort of looks like we’re over.”

Victor laughed, then, throwing his head back and braying like a donkey. Sherlock shrugged. Well, he  _ was _ an arse.

“Oh my God, you’re Watson!  _ The _ Watson!” he cackled as John’s eyes narrowed. “God, you’re shorter than I thought you’d be. No wonder Mary’s gotta find a real man.”

Sherlock raised her eyebrows as John’s shoulders tensed. Victor was about to regret he’d ever laid eyes on ‘Mary,’ and Sherlock couldn’t wait to bear witness. This was shaping up to be a rather entertaining party after all.

John’s fist moved so quickly that Sherlock almost didn’t notice; Victor missed it completely if the shocked look on his stupid face was anything to go by. His hand came up to cover his jaw, and Sherlock knew without a doubt that it bruise nicely tomorrow. Sherlock would’ve loved to punch him herself, but it seemed the blond boy had done a good enough job that she needn’t bloody her own hands.

Mary rushed to Victor’s side in a sad attempt at helping. Sherlock rolled her eyes and scoffed, effectively drawing the attention of her ex-boyfriend as John stormed out of the room and onto the back porch.

“Lockie,” he greeted, grinning wolfishly, “didn’t know you’d be here.”

“Neither did I,” Sherlock replied easily, ignoring the insipid pet name. “You know parties aren’t really my area. Thought I’d surprise you, and it looks as though I did. Can’t say  _ I’m _ shocked, though.”

“What do you expect?” Victor asked smugly, wrapping an arm around Mary with ease. “Gotta get it somewhere if not from you, you frigid bitch.”

“Oh, how predictable,” Sherlock interrupted, not interested in spending any more time at the party than she already had.

“You’re such a freak,” Victor laughed. “You knew this would happen.”

Sherlock’s lips quirked. “I told you it would happen the first time you asked me on a date. It shouldn’t be much of a shock to you, even plagued with a brain as small and unused as the one in your head.”

Sherlock let herself enjoy watching Victor’s face turn red before leaving through the same door John had. She pushed her long curls to one side as she sat on the stairs next to him, his hands pushed into dark blond hair.

“Look, I really don’t want to talk about it,” John snapped. He turned to Sherlock, dark blue eyes angry and full of hurt. “Ask Mary if you really want to know, all right?”

Sherlock took a moment to examine the mess that was John Watson. He was a bit shorter than Sherlock, maybe three inches, with tan skin and golden hair. Well-defined muscles were covered by an ill-fitting red hoodie and loose jeans. John had a round nose and a generally, well,  _ pleasing _ face, which was now contorted in grief over some idiotic girl who thought Victor was more exciting than the blond on the stairs.

She pressed a can of beer into John’s hands.

“Oh. Uh, thanks,” he muttered, his face flushing. “Thank you…”

“Sherlock Holmes.” The girl tilted her head and narrowed her cerulean eyes. “John Watson, eighteen, rugby player, large dog, middle class. Mary was your girlfriend for… how long? Five months, by the look of it,” she rattled off. “I wouldn’t be too disheartened by it. She’s been interested in Victor for a while. You’re a fit bloke. You’ll find another girlfriend soon enough, and  _ Mary _ will be no more than just a name in no time at all.”

The blond sat back and stared at her incredulously. “Are you saying that I shouldn’t let the fact that my girlfriend is currently cheating on me get me down?”

“Well, no, that’s not exactly it,” Sherlock replied. “No, you just broke up with her. She’s your ex-girlfriend now, technically, so it’s not cheating. She just moved on very quickly.”

John smiled mirthlessly. “Are you mental?”

“Not in the least.”

“Why do you care?” John asked curiously.

“The boy she’s currently snogging is Victor Trevor,” Sherlock replied, leaning back on her elbows. “He’s my boyfriend. Ex-boyfriend now.”

“Oh, so they-”

“Yes. They’re most likely going to have intercourse tonight.”

John winced. “Well, that’s pleasant.”

“Quite.”

The blond shook his head. “Why are you so okay with this?”

Sherlock shrugged. “He never really looked at me.”

“What do you mean?”

The girl glanced at John from the corner of her eye. “You know what I mean.”

John nodded, laughing quietly. “Yeah. Yeah, I do. Mary- She doesn’t even like me.”

“Obviously, considering how much she likes Victor,” Sherlock replied.

“No, I… I know because she said so.”

“She told you she didn’t like you?”

“Yep. And everything she wants costs money, and, you know, I’m definitely not the richest bloke in England.”

Sherlock smiled dully. “I’m not sure what Victor hoped to accomplish by dating me. My family has money, but it’s all in the business, and that’s still owned by my grandparents. We’re not rich.  _ I’m _ certainly not.”

John laughed. “People are shite.”

Sherlock hummed in agreement. “I’ll never make that mistake again.”

“What mistake? Victor?”

“A relationship,” Sherlock replied, smiling without mirth.

“They’re not all that bad when it’s with the right person,” John said. “But yeah, not with men like Victor or women like Mary.”

Several moments of silence passed before either of them spoke.

“So, Sherlock… how’d you know all that about me?” asked John, genuinely curious.

The girl sat up and looked away, pursing her lips and preparing for John to either throw his beer in her face or call her a freak and leave. Perhaps he’d do both.

“You look to be around my age, but at least a year older. Eighteen, more or less. The way you hold yourself, the way you so quickly resorted to violence, and the way your clothes don’t quite hide the muscles you’ve developed all point to sport. There’s more stress in your left leg. Sports injury. Could be footie, but rugby’s more likely, as it’s more popular in the schools in this area. You’ve got dog hair by your knees, so it’s a large breed. Your shoes are well-cared for but falling apart at the seams, so you’re in the middle class, like most of the people inside. Not that difficult a leap.”

Curiosity got the best of her, and Sherlock turned to see John staring at her rapturously, his jaw dropped open.

“John?”

The blond smiled brilliantly before exclaiming, “That was amazing!”

Sherlock’s eyes widened. “What? You really think so?”

“Of course,” John affirmed. “That was extraordinary, absolutely extraordinary.”

“That’s not what Victor says.”

John’s face immediately darkened. “Do I  _ want _ to know what Victor says?”

“No, most likely not,” said Sherlock. “And I hate to repeat such vulgarities.”

“Oh, God.”

“It normally had something to do with my mouth and what other purposes it could serve if I weren’t such a highly-strung freak.” Sherlock blushed, suddenly embarrassed to be telling these things to a boy she’d just met. “It was almost a pet name. Tedious.”

“He- Wait, he called you ‘freak’ as a pet name?” John demanded. As Sherlock nodded, the blond boy seethed. “Can I go back inside and punch that disgusting git again?”

Sherlock’s lips quirked, and she almost grinned before glancing over at the blond boy sitting next to her. His lips were pursed, his blue eyes were hard, and he looked about ready to take on a serial killer.

“Why would you do that?” Sherlock asked, her brows knitting together. “You don’t know me.”

“That doesn’t  _ matter _ , Sherlock. He can’t treat you like that,” John stated, clenching his fists. “You’re brilliant! He can’t just… take that away from you. It’s not right. So yeah, I’d go inside and punch him again because he deserves it.”

Sherlock was silent, blinking rapidly in surprise.

John cautiously put a hand on the girl’s shoulder. “Sherlock? Are you okay?”

“Yes, John. Thank you,” she said quietly.

“Anytime,” the blond assured.

Sherlock nodded slowly. “Mary’s an idiot.”

John smiled. “So’s Victor.”

“Absolutely,” Sherlock replied. “I’m glad you agree.”

The two of them were silent again, the night sky darker than it had been when they had first made their way outside. Only the brightest stars outshone the pollution of the suburban England streetlights, and Sherlock gazed at them contentedly.

“In the country, you can see thousands of them,” John said. “Stars, that is. My grandparents live out in Dartmoor.”

Sherlock hummed in acknowledgment but didn’t reply.

“My sister and I go camping out there whenever we visit.”

“You’re rather talkative.”

John started. “I- Sorry, I just thought…”

“It was merely an observation, John,” Sherlock interrupted, blushing slightly as she glanced at him.

“Ah, right. Okay,” the blond agreed. “That’s good. I like you, Sherlock.”

“You’re not completely terrible yourself.”

John chuckled. “Ta, Sherlock. You’re a charmer.”

The girl smirked at the sound of John’s laugh. “You’re very kind, John.”

“Well, you are quite brilliant,” the boy replied, licking his lips absently, “and I’d like to see you again.”

Sherlock, startled, turned her whole body towards John. “I don’t have  _ friends _ .”

“I- You don’t have anybody?” John asked, his brows knit together.

“No one.”

“How is that possible?” John questioned again, shaking his head. “You’re fantastic.”

“Do you know you do that out loud?”

“Sorry, I’ll stop.”

Sherlock bit her lip. “No, it’s… good.”

John grinned. “Listen, Sherlock. I-” The blond took a deep breath and pushed Sherlock’s curls behind her ear. “Is this okay?”

“Yes,” she replied softly.

“And this?” he asked, leaning in until they were breathing the same air. “Okay?”

Sherlock nodded as John’s hand came to rest on the back of her neck. The blond’s nose brushed against hers, and Sherlock smiled fractionally.

“Can I-” John whispered. 

“John.”

Sherlock’s eyelids fluttered shut as John’s lips met hers. It was soft and light and lasted only a few seconds before he pulled that sunshine away, but Sherlock was nearly breathless by the time she opened her eyes.

“That was- good,” she croaked.

“Good,” John replied, clearing his throat.

Sherlock nodded. “I think you may be right, John.”

“Oh?” the blond asked, raising his eyebrows. “About what?”

“Relationships.” Sherlock took John’s hand and wrote her mobile number on it hastily, feeling like an idiot but going through with it nonetheless. “Call me when you’re over Mary. Five months is quite a while, yes?”

“Uh, yeah. I mean, no. I-” John took a deep breath and grinned. “I’ll call you. Soon. See you around, Sherlock.”

“Goodbye, John.”


End file.
